


Drift Away

by wildes



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildes/pseuds/wildes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperately in love with Richard, James deals with it the only way he knows how: by avoiding him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first draft of this very quickly on my phone in the middle of the night a few weeks ago when my brain wouldn't let go of the idea. I'm very not sure about this, and I don't know whether I should try and continue it somehow. For now, though, it's a one-shot.

Sometimes, even looking at him is too much.

It's often stupid things that make James want to avert his gaze. Trivial things, like the way he might cringe down at his plate when faced with a food that he doesn't like, his upper lip wrinkled in distaste; or the way he might grin at a stupid joke, with his teeth bared and his eyes glittering with joy. It might be the glimpse of his collarbone under his shirt, or the way he sometimes scratches his belly thoughtfully, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal his stomach. Sometimes it's even too much looking at him when he's explaining something with barely contained enthusiasm, waving his hands in the air in front of him; or the opposite - the way he sometimes just sits and listens, his eyebrows drawn in deep concentration.

It's all those things and more, things that James - there's no other way of putting it - loves about Richard, that make James want to curl up in a ball and hide himself from the world.

The list of things is ever-growing and, James fears, endless. The stubborn set in his jaw when he's in the middle of a heated argument. The glint in his eye as he elbows James in the ribs. The arch of his eyebrows when Jeremy says something ludicrous. The tone of his voice when he's desperately trying to stifle a chuckle.

And sometimes, it's just too much.

Sometimes, it will result in James snapping at him without really meaning to; even when he knows Richard is just trying to make James smile. It will make James lean away from his touch when he's trying to clap him on the shoulder. Sometimes, James hears him talking in a room and turns on his heels. At times it's easier not having to look at him, because that way there's no chance of James giving himself away. Thankfully, there's always someone who needs help with mending something or the other in the Top Gear Technology Centre.

It's often obvious to Richard that James is trying to avoid him, and at times James sees a flash of hurt flickering in his eyes. It's hard not to apologise, then, difficult not to try and explain why James is doing what he's doing. He desperately wants Richard to know that it's not his fault, because it's not. It's James who's gone all wrong, James who is fucking things up and ultimately, ruining their friendship.

"It's better this way," James wants to say, but never does. "You're too much for me, sometimes," he wants to say. "Sometimes I look at you and fear you might blind me if I'm not careful."

What James often ends up saying instead is, "Don't touch me," if Richard attempts to push his shoulder against James'. "Shut up," if he tries to engage James in a conversation that would make the walls James has built crumble down. "Go away," if Richard is simply being a bit too much for James to handle. Lately, James has told him to leave more often than he ever used to. Moreover, Richard has started actually leaving the room upon hearing the words, when in the past he used to just roll his eyes and kick James in the shin.

The tension between James and Richard culminates one night after far too many beers somewhere around the world in a rubbish hotel bar.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Richard asks, very drunk. His eyes are big, brown and possibly the saddest James has ever seen them. His eyelashes seem to be fluttering, and his fingertips are hovering just above James's elbow, not quite touching him. "You can just tell me if you do," he says when James doesn't reply. "I'm a big boy. I can take it," he continues, and James has never heard his voice quite so choked, yet carefully controlled.

It's too much, and James has to look away. He stares at the bottom of his pint instead of looking at Richard, listening to his ragged breathing. He is close enough that James can feel his warmth through his clothes, can smell the remains of his aftershave.

"I wish you wouldn't hate me so much, James."

James has never heard him so broken, so honest; vulnerable and open, somehow. His fingertips graze the underside of James's arm and James twitches nervously, leaning away from the touch out of habit more than anything. His heart is hammering in his chest madly, desperately. He doesn't know how to tell him that the problem is the exact opposite. Swallowing is difficult, his chest feels tight, and his hands shake where James rests them on his lap.

James glances at him, sees his eyes bloodshot, his lips trembling ever so slightly. Richard is waiting for him to say something, but his throat is dry, and the moment passes before James can fully grasp it.

After a minute, Richard leaves without saying another word. His pint is left almost untouched on the table. 

"Wait," James says, but it's too late - the bar is loud, and Richard can't hear him. James watches him disappear into the crowd, downs what's left in his pint, and pretends to laugh when Jeremy comes to tell him about how he's just seen Richard disappear in his hotel room, banging the door shut behind himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know if this fic is actually going anywhere. But I figured that since I did eventually write another chapter of this, I might as well share it. :)

They don't talk about it later, of course they don't; it had been nothing more than a stupid, drunken squabble, after all. For a few days James can't be sure if Richard even remembers that it happened, because it seems the man is going about his business just like normally. He's treating James just like he usually would, with a flash of a grin at him there, a hand on the small of James' back there. James tries to treat him neutrally, and not like he hates him - god, Richard's words had burned a hole in his gut - but sometimes it's hard, and sometimes he fails; flinches away from little touches, doesn't remember to laugh when Richard makes a joke, too busy staring at his face.

The rest of the filming trip goes well enough and without incident, and for those few days, James thinks that maybe, eventually, things can be okay. He even starts to think that maybe, eventually, he'll be able to look at Richard and see a friend, and not someone he desperately desires, even though he knows he'll never be able to have him.

But after a week or so of things being just fine, after they return home from the filming trip and return to filming things mostly around their own track in Dunsfold Park, things suddenly change. For a few days, James doesn't even realise it, just counts himself both unfortunate and lucky that he doesn't see Richard much for a few days. Unfortunate, because James loves him. Lucky, because not having to see him is easier. For a few days, James doesn't realise that the reason he doesn't see Richard around much is that Richard's started avoiding _him_.

"Where is he?" Jeremy grumbles from one end of the sofa. James regards him from the other end, cradling his cardboard cup of coffee in his hands. He shakes his head and turns to look at Andy.

"Helping Nigel, apparently," Andy says, nonplussed. "Never thought I'd see the day, but there we are."

Jeremy raises an eyebrow at James. "But _you_ do that, May," he says. "I didn't even think Hammond liked him."

James shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. His heart is hammering in his chest, his insides in an anxious twist.

He sees very little of Richard in the coming weeks. The bad-tempered little man has started turning down invites to the pub after long days of filming, something that he never used to do before. What down-time he has on set he mostly spends huddled in a corner somewhere with Nigel, helping him with one of his - even James has to admit it, and he's always been oddly fond of Nigel - hopeless projects. When, in the past, Richard could usually be found sprawled out on the sofa in the sordid presenters' room, now he's never there.

"What's wrong with him?" Jeremy asks James one afternoon. He's chewing on a biscuit, looking uncharacteristically deep in thought. 

"Who?" James asks, even though he knows. He quickly busies himself with his cup of tea to avoid looking Jeremy in the eye. It's just as well, because Jeremy doesn't reply to him, just draws his eyebrows together. 

"The pub. Tonight. At eight. Be there, I'll make him come," he says with a determined voice before standing up and leaving the room. 

"Maybe he has some trouble at home," Andy says from the corner. "It's the only thing I can think of."

"Yeah," James replies hollowly, looking next to him on the couch where Richard isn't sitting. "Maybe," he says, even though he thinks all of this might actually be his fault.

*

He goes to Jeremy's local at around eight. He's a little bit late, but then he usually is, and he's sure Jeremy won't mind too much. James doesn't think he'll have managed to make Richard come along, so he isn't particularly anxious - until he opens the door to the pub, smelling the alcohol and hearing the loud chatter, and seeing Richard sitting in their usual table, with a particularly triumphant-looking Clarkson next to him.

Suddenly, James wants to turn on his heels and go home.

He doesn't though, because that'd be weird and he doesn't want to make it seem like this is _his_ problem, when everyone's convinced it's to do with Richard and Richard alone. So, he plasters a huge, fake grin on his face and walks towards his friends, claps Jeremy on the shoulder once and sits down at the table across the two of them.

Jeremy is smiling at him, but Richard isn't; his face is completely expressionless. His eyes are a steady weight on James and he shrugs his jacket off in order to busy himself with something.

"Did you get lost on the way here?" Jeremy asks, glancing at the clock.

"Funny," James says. He's slightly flustered, but it has nothing to do with embarrassment of having been late, and everything to do with how Richard is watching him. 

"I didn't think you would come," Richard says. His voice is light and he takes a sip of his gin, but James senses there's more meaning hidden in his words than meets the eye.

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world," James says dryly and grins as Richard's lips turn into a crooked smile at his words.

*  
  
Later, later, much, much later - James doesn't know what the time is, he's past caring about things like that - James is standing outside of the pub, smoking a cigarette. Richard is sitting on a bench next to him, quietly, shooting James a glance after another. It makes James smile despite himself.

He thinks that if they are capable of having a nice, quiet moment like this together while Jeremy's inside, drawn deep in an argument about torque with a drunken stranger, then maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay. A wave of pure relief washes through him as he realises just how much he's missed this, just having Richard by his side as a friend. It's been way too long since they last managed this, since _James_ last managed this.

Then, of course, he decides to open his mouth.

"So," he says, meeting Richard's intent gaze. "You've decided to stop avoiding me, then. I'm glad."

He means to say it as a joke, of sorts - hopes for Richard to laugh and deny having ever avoided James at all. But he doesn't, instead he flinches and turns away, his face falling.

"I thought that's what you wanted," he says with an edge to his tone that James really doesn't like.

"Of course I didn't," James says quickly. "You dullard," he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

Richard scoffs, and when he looks at James, there are flames in his eyes, though his face is still carefully controlled. "Right, sure you didn't," he says, irony dripping off every syllable.

James is too drunk for this. He desperately wants to reach out and touch Richard - his arm, maybe, or maybe his cheek. He'd also quite like to grab a hold of the front of his jacket and kiss him - or maybe shake some sense into him.

"I didn't," James says, his voice weak. He takes a drag of his cigarette, his fingers shaking ever so slightly.

"Shall we not do this, May?" Richard asks, his voice cold. "If you aren't going to be honest, I really see no point in continuing this conversation."

"But I -"

"Fuck, James. Shut up, now, completely. Sit the fuck down."

James doesn't dare to speak, so he does as he's told, sitting down next to his friend. Richard's eyes are on him, weighing him, and James can't bring himself to look at him. He's quite sure Richard is going to shout at him, now. He waits for a few moments, lighting another cigarette, without daring to risk a glance at his friend, but nothing comes. Richard's quiet, and James flinches when he finally meets Richard's eyes - it's like looking into the eyes of a stranger. Richard doesn't look like himself at all, his face twisted in emotion James can't name, doesn't know if he wants to name.

"Richard," he says quietly, carefully, not sure if Richard wants him to speak. "Are you alright?"

Richard doesn't reply. He just smiles joylessly, and it looks so wrong on him James wants to cry. He's used to Richard's face lighting up with his smiles, his eyes shining with it, wrinkling at the corners. Now there's nothing but a thin, sad smile on his face. It's just wrong.

"Right," Richard says after what feels like a year but is probably only a few seconds. "Because now you suddenly care, do you? You haven't as much as looked at me in months, but now you care."

James desperately wants to touch him, run his fingers over Richard's face. He's too drunk for this discussion and it seems Richard isn't drunk enough, and James is terrified he's going to say the wrong thing, that he's going to fuck this up even more than he already has.

"You are my best friend," James tries, feebly. His hands are sweating. "Of course I care."

Richard lets out a scoff of a laugh. "Do you, James?" he asks, voice full of scorn. He stands up. "I'm going back inside. Someone needs to save Jeremy from… well, from himself, really." 

It's summer, but the night air is cool against James' skin as he sits outside of the pub. A seagull the size of a dog stares at him from across the street. 


End file.
